


Curse breaker

by EnlacingLines



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Rescue Missions, Sylvix Week (Fire Emblem), Sylvix Week 2019, didn't get that until after I'd written in, literally Felix lives in a forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 03:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: So there it is. The entire reason for this visit.“And you want me to go with you?” Felix asks with a sigh.“I would have thought you’d want to, seeing as it’s Sylvain whose possibly in danger,” Ingrid says with a raised eyebrow.A fairytale AU in which Sylvain is potentially missing, possibly fine and Felix should probably go after him either way.Written for the Sylvix Week 2019 day 3 Prompt: Fairytale.





	Curse breaker

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping head first into Sylvix week with a 9K fairytale AU. Sounds about right...
> 
> This is dedicated to the lovely, amazing, WONDERFUL Audrey. I don't know what I'd do without you screaming along with me as we slowly become more and more obsessed with this game and these idiots. Thank you so much for betaing this fic :)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

When Ingrid and Ashe turn up at his door, Felix immediately tries to shut it in their faces. It’s his own fault for not checking before answering, a habit that’s died down since he lives in the middle of a wood and doesn’t get unexpected visitors. Today, he’s expecting payout from his last job, and knowing Ingrid, that’s precisely why they showed up today. 

For, as much as in general he likes seeing them, turning up at his home means they want something. And he won’t like it. 

The effort of dismissing them is as futile as he imagines, Ingrid having already placed the end of her lance in the way, and she steps naturally over the threshold as if nothing happened at all. Ashe gives him a slightly apologetic grin as he follows, but that’s all he’s likely to get by way of repentance. 

So he resigns himself to their presence, closing the door behind them and watches with a twitching brow as they make themselves at home. 

“What do you want?” he says, once Ingrid has placed herself in the best chair, having neatly laid her weapon and shoes by the door. 

“Lovely to see you too. Nice new decor,” she adds, nodding towards the group of blades now mounted by the fire. It’s a collection he received as payment for saving a Kingdom miles away almost six moons ago, beautiful blades in different materials, infused with magic: one of silver, which has the power to turn the tide, one of opalescent laced with gold which has the power to show what is hidden. In theory anyway, he hasn’t tested them yet, and in general he’s a little sceptical when it comes to magically imbued blades.

The third is meant to arrive today, a blade of obsidian with the power to break through any barrier, completing the collection. Which he knows, by Ingrid's smile, confirms the theory of her arrival time. 

“Oh! I haven’t read this yet, is it good? I didn’t know the latest of the Masquerade saga was out yet!” Ashe says suddenly, spying the novel on the arm of the chair Ingrid is now sitting in.

Felix groans and tries in vain to stop the blush flaring across his features. He never should have spent that drunken celebration last year talking to Ashe about novels. Then again, the entire reason for being so very intoxicated was due to…

_ Things I will never think about again _ , he reminds himself, stepping forward to snatch the book away before Ingrid can get a closer look. 

“Yes, well. It came out last week. Now, can you please tell me why you’re here?” he says, stepping back with the book clutched tightly in one fist. 

Ingrid and Ashe exchange smiles, but their looks turn grave in the same moment. Ingrid stands, and digs into her bag before pulling out a piece of neatly folded parchment. 

“A quest?” he asks in confusion, but takes the paper. He unfolds it, eyes skimming through the instructions in black ink and then, curiously, the red seal at the end. 

“A lost item of House Illurius, potentially cursed. But it’s been claimed. Almost three moons ago, why do you have this?” he asks. 

“Look at the seal,” she instructs, and dutifully, Felix looks back. A flash of freezing heat blast through at the stamp of House Gautier, one he hopes does not translate in his expression. 

“So one of Sylvain’s. Again, why do you have this,” he asks. 

“Because, it should have been a simple quest and yet he’s not returned. I haven’t heard from him since last moon, and no one else has. I checked with his Highness, with Byleth, but no word,” she says, taking the paper back with a touch of desperation in her voice. 

Felix pauses, a thrill of something akin to shock lighting up his veins. This is unlike Sylvain. He wracks his brain for the last time he heard from him, and comes up empty. It’s not as if they engage in much conversation, at least not of late. But normally, Sylvain will send letters and messages regardless if someone asks for them, and Felix realises this hasn’t been the case recently. 

Which is partly his own making, as the morning after said drunken evening he decided he wouldn’t think so much on this again. So he’s been dutifully not thinking, taken an extremely long quest as far away as possible, and it’s been helping. He’s not been wondering, dreaming and...urg,  _ pining _ if he has to admit it, since then. 

Except that’s meant he didn’t notice this, which causes a swell of guilt to crawl up nastily from the pit of his stomach. 

“Are we sure there’s really a problem? Perhaps communication has been an issue?” he says, hoping this will aleve a little of the bile in the back of his throat. 

Ashe shakes his head sadly. “Mercedes was in the area recently and said there’s been no problem. And Sylvian hasn’t collected his reward, so soon the quest will be re-issued.” 

“So we want to check it out before that happens,” Ingrid says, standing straight, Ashe nodding by her side. 

So there it is. The entire reason for this visit. 

“And you want me to go with you?” Felix asks with a sigh. 

“I would have thought you’d want to, seeing as it’s Sylvain whose possibly in danger,” Ingrid says with a raised eyebrow. 

Felix hesitates. He sees Ashe’s gaze flicker towards him, and knows where his thoughts are flying to. 

“Sylvain is...mostly competent,” he begins, which causes Ingrid to snort, and he does manage a small smile. “So I’m still not sure if we need to go after him. Isn’t that a little extreme?” 

Ingrid frowns. “I’m not sure. I would normally say so, but he usually sends me pages of updates on his love life, and asks me to write letters to those he’s...aggravated a little too much,” she says, and although there’s exasperation there, Felix knows it’s a little fond. 

“But hearing nothing isn’t like him at all. And I know you have no quests lined up, I checked. You’re the best person for this, Felix. You know the area better than anyone, and I’ll go to his Highness tomorrow to receive a summons for Sylvain.”

It does make tactical sense, and in truth, Felix doesn’t really need much persuasion. He doesn’t want to jump into a fray unnecessarily, and although Sylvain can get distracted more easily than a child, he is a capable knight. 

“Please, Felix. Three of us is a good number, in case of trouble. Besides, I know you’re just as worried as we are,” Ashe says. 

Felix rolls his eyes, trying to pretend he’s not utterly on their side. 

“Fine. But if we get there and nothing is wrong, he’s just got distracted by some Lord’s daughter, you will both owe me.” 

* * *

Felix fixes his horse in blissful silence, checking for the third time that they have everything. He’d walked out of the meeting with King Dimitri three minutes after appearing (a new record, everyone should be proud, really), deciding that unless they wanted him to punch his highness in the face, he is better outside. 

His new sword sits on his left, scabbard balancing in a way that’s unfamiliar. The silver handle glimmers invitingly, and he just resists the urge to draw the obsidian blade. He’s not sure why he’s decided to bring it with him, it just seemed right to have it by his side. 

“Are you really okay?” Ashe asks as they lead the horses out, waiting for Ingrid to finish organising their plans. 

“Why would I not be?” Felix answers, dreading this already. 

“It’s Sylvain,” Ashe answers, and Felix, not for the first time, curses his drunken self. 

“Who is mostly likely distracted or got involved with someone who he shouldn’t have. We’ll end up having to smooth over relations with some noble houses, and Ingrid will chase him back home, if she doesn’t gut him first. And then you’ll both owe me,” he adds, not forgetting their original conversation. 

Ashe stands next to the horse, arms crossed and a pitying look on his face that has Felix gritting his teeth in annoyance. 

“I stand by what I said, you know. You should tell him how you feel.” 

“We are not discussing this,” Felix hisses, pulling on the reins of his horse and leading them abruptly to the palace gates. Ashe, of course, follows. 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really do think it’s best. What has ignoring it done? Are you really going to tell me that spending moons in another Kingdom has made those feelings go away? That you don’t lo-” 

“Enough,” Felix says, words so cold and flat he sees Ashe stumble out of the corner of his vision. 

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes once, hoping the coldness of the morning will somehow clear the somersaults in his stomach. It does the job of causing an ache in his throat, a different sort of pain to the one in his chest, more vibrant and helpful. 

He hasn’t said that word in eight moons, hasn’t thought it in half that time. It is not something frequently said or heard of in his life, and it’s half formed utterance just now has rocked him far more than he likes. 

“I’m sorry, Felix. But..well, if you want to talk about it again, I’m here,” Ashe says, in that patient and kind tone he’s always had. 

Felix sighs and faces him fully, offering him a nod, which thankfully Ashe takes with a smile. It’s the most he can give. 

“Right, we have our orders. Felix, would it kill you to just play nice once?” Ingrid says, galloping to meet them. 

“To the boar King? Yes,” he replies, mounting his horse quickly, Ashe doing the same. 

“Why is my entire life spent getting one of you two out of trouble?” she says with a groan, as the three begin on their way. 

It’s a fairly easy journey, just a few days riding. They have their stops already planned, the three of them used to travelling, having been knights of the Kingdom for many years. Honestly, Felix sometimes can’t recall exactly why he’s chosen this path, which tends to lead him to far too many interactions with people he doesn’t want to talk to. 

But it’s the only life he’s ever craved, with the few people he’s ever seen as good company. It’s also got him far enough away from his father, which will do in itself. He doesn’t need that sort of influence or memories clouding his mind. 

They pass the day in idle chatter from Ingrid and Ashe, which is fine by him. They stop as planned, and enter a small village inn for their first night. Travelers are few and far between on this route, which is specifically why they have chosen it. 

“Did find anything else about the family?” Ingrid asks as they sit at the inn, nursing tankards of mild, spiced ale. 

Ashe bends down, and produces a book from his bag. Both Felix and Ingrid blink as they recognise a storybook. Ashe takes in their expressions and sighs. 

“I know, but hear me out. There’s an old legend mentioning the Illurius manor by name, stating that while hunting, a young lord saved a witch from his hounds. In payment, years later when his son was sick, the witch arrived and healed them. From then on, they struck a bargain; the coven would live in the village in peace, if in payment they blessed the area with good health and harvest.” 

Felix snorted, and waved a hand dismissively. “But now that’s normal, magic is everywhere,”

“But, it’s always has been a prosperous area. Well, until last spring when that entire region was hit with the flooding and landslides after the water gods attacked. It’s never quite recovered,” Ashe says with a wince, and Felix’s mind turns dim. 

That had been a bad time. Many had died, and all of the Knights from across Foldarin had been involved, one way or another. 

“There are some odd reports lately, and this is the current family of the house,” Ashe continues, and Felix jogs his mind back from the past. 

It looks like any other family tree, except in every generation, one person is wearing the same brooch. It’s a strange shape, looks somewhat like a flower or vines, but it ends abruptly on the left hand side, while the right curls outwards. The youngest child, a daughter, is currently wearing it in the portrait, attached to the top of her cloak, material indicating she’d been attending a sorcerer academy when it was taken. 

“What reports,” he asks, looking away. 

Ashe produces a piece of parchment. “All from travellers mostly, and a few from Nights of the Black Eagle, who had trouble with some transmutations nearby. Crop failure is the most recent, but before that a fire without explanation, an infestation of frogs, and the vanishing of all metal objects one night and returning the next. No local complaints, but they indicate a problem,” he says, sharing the notes out between them, 

Felix stares at the pages, but they mean nothing of consequence. Together they look through all the details they can, seeing if there are any patterns. By the time they retreat to their beds, nothing is clearer. 

Yet Felix cannot sleep. Sylvain vanishing makes it different, forces them to look at this more strategically, even if so far there is nothing to see. So instead, Felix runs the last conversation they shared over in his head. 

It had been a moon after the wedding, a week before he was due to leave. Sylvain had pestered him and Ingrid out, an evening for old times sake. 

“I still can’t believe you’re living in that cave in the woods,” he’d said, sweeping his hair up with his hand and causing three different people to stop what they were doing and stare. 

Of course, by now Felix was so used to that action it didn’t make him pause. Just his mouth to water, eyes to hyper focus on each strand of hair falling into Sylvain’s face. Annoying, all of it. 

“It’s not a cave,” he remembers saying, when Ingrid had laughed. 

“May as well be with all the sunlight you get. Amazing you’re going all the way to the otherwise of the world, where you’ll need to leave your woodland fortress,” she said. 

“It can’t be good for you. Don’t you ever get, ya know, lonely? Being so far away from...anyone?” Sylvain had said. 

_ Lonely _ . Back in the present without Sylvain, he ponders the word. No is the answer he wants to give, the one he had given at the time. But it isn’t quite right. He’s never craved people to feel alive or better. He’s spent most of his life running far from the confines of the family he was born into, who didn’t really care for emotions or loneliness of any kind. 

But the other Knights of the Blue Lion are people he grudgingly admits he likes spending time with, in different measures. Ashe is persistent in a good sort of way that pushes him just enough into social contact, and Ingrid has been part of his life for so long he cannot imagine it without her. 

And Sylvain….

He isn’t lonely. But he wouldn’t mind another person with him in his home in the woods. Wouldn’t mind someone else to share frustrations and wins, to plan tactics and avoid Dimitri with. 

And truth be told he'd like it to be one person in particular. He’d watched him at Dimitri’s wedding, downed too much spirit and ended up confessing to Ashe when he already knew: it’s not going to happen. So, both then and now, he needs to stop thinking about it. 

He must manage to, as he’s asleep when Ashe comes bursting through the doors in the early hours of the morning. 

Felix is stumbling up, sword half drawn when he realises who it is, hastily sheathing it, but Ashe doesn’t seem to notice. He’s carrying what looks like a poster, which he thrusts into Felix’s face, sending him stumbling backwards. 

“Look! A trader just arrived with this,” he says, panting as he shakes the paper.

Felix casts his eyes upon it, taking in the lines of the page. Then stops. Grabs the paper from Ashe and turns it to the light streaming through the window, heart pounding as if he’s just raced into battle, surrounded by enemies. 

The paper is just an innocuous piece of parchment, taken away from a notice board, containing only a few lines of flowing script. But it’s purpose may as well have been screamed directly in Felix’s ears for how his head is ringing: an announcement of marriage between lady Persephone Illurius and Sir Sylvain Jose Gautier, Knight of the Blue Lions. 

\--------

“There is no way this is happening. It’s not possible. There is definitely something wrong,” Ingrid says, and Felix is so close to tipping her off her horse. It’s the middle of the afternoon and she’s been ranting since breakfast; it’s not helping whatsoever. 

What has helped is the trade he made with a warlock; Felix spent an hour taking out his frustration by ridding her house of imps hiding in between reality and the fae realm, and in exchange received a short cut to the leyline: if they travel without stopping until sunset, they’ll reach their destination. 

Which unfortunately means he has half a day of Ingrid seething, theorising and plotting. It’s eerie travelling this way, the world around them shimmering like water with muted colours rushing past. It’s mildly nauseating if he focuses for too long, but that also leaves him with two choices: listening to Ingrid or listening to his own thoughts. 

What he wouldn’t give to fight something right now. 

“His father doesn’t know, he’d never allow it. He’d disinherit him on the spot,” Ingrid says. 

“He wouldn’t, Sylvain is the most talented of his siblings, even if he’s the youngest,” Felix says, hating that he’s managed to be dragged in, choosing this to avoid his own thoughts. 

“Maybe, but this is weird, you know it. Sylvain never settles because…” she trails off, and he notices Ingrid give him a peculiar look before clearing her throat. 

“It isn’t him. He likes being the suave knight saving Princesses...okay actually they tend to save him, but he attempts to save and flirts,” Ingrid says, and Felix does smirk a little, remembering the last time Sylvain had tried to show his prowess. 

“So we’re back on the witch theory. Even if it doesn’t make sense,” Ashe says, brow furrowing. 

“None of this makes sense,” Ingrid mutters, and then she too falls silent. 

Felix is aware he’s been begging to any entity that will listen for this conversation to cease, but as soon as the quiet descends, his own emotions wander. Primarily, the feel of the shard of glass stuck in his chest, fracturing itself into small pieces of hurt that burrow deeper and deeper with every minute. 

_ He’s getting married.  _

He should be ready for this day. No matter if it’s false or not, it is what’s happening, and he’s known since they were children that it would. Sylvain has been charming women since he was old enough to speak, and since his brother renounced the family title and he became heir, it’s been obvious he’ll marry to continue the family line. 

It was always going to happen. And yet, here Felix is, despairing at the notion. 

He shouldn’t have followed him. He should have rejected Ingrid and Ashe’s offer as soon as it was made, but he knows, no matter how bitter his regret, he’d never be able to do that. Whenever one of them is in danger, he’ll always come. And they know that, for they’d come for him as well. 

For Sylvain, he’d cut down any enemy, find a way through any terrain, face the most fearsome of beasts - because he’s hideously in love, so much so, some days he can barely breathe at the immensity of the emotion. It’s everything he hates, but it’s fuel that helps keep him alive, just like his care for his friends and his love for the sword and his will to run from anything that can remind him of his family. 

It’s part of him. And he wishes he could cut it out and crush it into the earth, but he can’t. 

This cycle of thinking keeps him occupied and annoyed until the water-like world starts to sharpen, a rosy glow of the day ebbing. The world begins coming into focus and all three halt, swaying a little as the transportation catches up and they are, just as promised, right outside the Ilurius manor. 

Ashe swallows hard, but rides up next to him, Ingrid flanking his other side. Night has just fallen, leaving a navy tinge to the air, and the house stands proud and vast in the backdrop, an archway just before them with a high metal gate. The twin guards on either side don’t seem too fazed to have three travellers arrive in their midst, but Felix catches them straightening infinitesimally. 

Other than that it is quiet. Despite the obvious ground the manor is sealed within, there’s no birdsong, no evening call of animals going to roost or others awakening. A few lights can be seen ahead, but nothing to indicate a huge presence within the house, which is especially strange when thinking there is to be a wedding here at some point. 

There’s no other people either. The village isn’t too large, and Felix knows the area well enough to know the road is a thorofare, hence the gates. Yet no one is travelling, no one is here. 

Odd. He startles a little when he feels a hand on his arm, and turns to see Ingrid looking at him, encouraging smile on her face. 

“It will be okay,” she says, nothing more or less. 

He swallows, and stares back, daring her to elaborate. But she doesn’t; she knows him too well, has known him for longer than anyone bar Sylvain, therefore knows she is aware of what’s going on in his head and heart. Probably has done for longer than he has, if he’s honest. 

“It will. We’ll sort this out. All of it,” Ashe says, and Felix has the urge to run straight at the gates and break them apart with his bare hands, there is too much sentiment in the air. 

“Let’s go in,” he says, and he leads the other two forward, all adjusting so their crests are easily seen. 

“Good evening! We wish to speak to a friend of ours. Sylvain Gautier, a fellow member of the Knights of the Blue Lion. We believe he is staying with the Lord of this house?” Ingrid greets as they approach. 

The guard on the left nods once. “That is true. What business do you have?” they say, and Felix frowns. The tone is accusatory, and he notices how both clutch their spears, on edge already. 

But Ingrid goes not waver. “A message from His Majesty King Dimitri, our patron and leader. He wishes us to deliver it to our comrade in person. Now, may we be granted entry?” 

The guards exchange a look, but after a moment, the one who spoke nods. 

“Please dismount. I’ll inform them of your arrival,” he says, his voice haunting and strange, movements stilted, probably from hours of keeping guard. He retreats to the other-side of the gate and sends up a flare of silver sparks, which spiral off towards the house. 

They do as bid, and by the time they have done so, the guard has returned. 

“Follow me.” 

Then the gates are open. As they step forward, something shoots down Felix’s spine, making him pause. It’s like static on a carpet, the touch of an open blade on skin, the first feel of icy air come winter. 

_ Magic _ . He’s been around casters long enough to recognise it. A barrier or something similar that marks their territory. He looks around but Ingrid and Ashe continue forward without pause, not sparing a glance his way. Felix steps forward but the feeling dies down, a one time event. 

As they are lead to the house, Felix eyes the grounds, all three immediately in close formation. It is dark, but the faint light of the house and a few torches allows him to see the bracken forming in the treeline, the grass in odd patches of green and yellow, flowers in different states of decay. If he didn’t know better, he’d stay this had been abandoned, or at least left with minimal attendance for a while. 

The reports had started coming in a year ago. Perhaps…

“Seems we have a welcoming party,” Ingrid murmurs, bringing him back to the present. 

He looks up to see that on the steps of the house stands the man Felix recognises as Lord Illurius, along with two more guards, armed more heavily than the ones from the gate. He smiles as they approach, all bowing to one another at once. 

“It is an honour to meet you all. I am afraid we did not expect Knights of the Blue Lions to appear, or we would have prepared appropriately,” he says. 

“It is no trouble, we simply have a message to pass onto Sylvain. It was proving difficult to contact him,” Ashe says, and Felix is a little stunned at how quickly the conversation has turned. 

But the Lord smiles. “Ah yes, you will have to forgive us for that. You see, he is recently engaged to my daughter, Persephone. Much of their focus has been on the upcoming wedding. Please, do come in,” he says, and with that, turns without a single care and enters the house. 

Ingrid and Felix exchange a glance, her expression mirroring his own. As expected, none of this is as it seems, and he needs a moment to ask about the barrier. But now of course is not the time, as one of the guards takes their horses, and they are swiftly marched through the house. 

They are lead to a small dining room, a fire place already lit. A huge window to what looks like the back of the grounds is in the opposite corner, although the view now is simply shades of dark. A mantelpiece above the fire holds small trinkets, china statues of horses that all seems a little chipped with age, a fine layer of dust marking everything, another example of lack of care. A crest of arms hangs over the wall; a rose surrounded by ivy leaves, and Felix wonders for a moment where he’s seen it before. 

Their host points to a series of well worn chairs dotted around the room. “Please make yourself comfortable. We have already served the evening meal, but I shall ask the kitchens to bring you something.” 

“And Sylvain?” Felix prompts, hoping the eagerness in his voice is not too obvious. 

Their host tips his head to the side. “Wh-oh! Of course, we have already asked him to join you, I am sure he will be with you soon,” he says, and then turns in a half spin to the door, and leaves with his guards in a rush. 

Felix stares, unmoving. The attitude of everyone here is starting to bother him; the strange movements, stilted conversation. As if they are only half aware of what’s happening. His fingers itch to grab his sword, but resolves only to rest his hand on the hilt, a surge of comfort washing through. 

“Well, I’m sure they will come soon.” 

Felix turns at Ingrid’s mild voice, and pauses as he sees both have settled into chairs, posture relaxed. Ashe is staring at the fire almost hypnotized, and Ingrid gives him a musing smile as her head lulls from one side to the other. 

“Ingrid? Ashe?” he says, voice rising a little louder than strictly necessary in a small room, but when they both take languid seconds to respond, his nerves rocket. He strides over to Ingrid, bending down before her, trying to get her attention. 

“Hm?” she questions, as if just recalling his presence, eyes strangely unfocused with the flare of the golden firelight reflected. 

“Ingrid, this is a spell. Come on, snap out of it,” he says, frustrated and a little, he’s not proud to admit, nervous. He lays a hand on her arm thinking touch might rouse her, but she peers back down as if she doesn’t know him. 

He turns, and sees Ashe has not moved, is just staring at the fire as if it holds the secrets of the universe. 

“Ashe,” he tries, but his friend gives no sign he’s even heard. 

Felix’s eyes flicker between the two, until his nerves fray. He pulls out his sword, the snap of the blade from its scabbard an instant source of familiar comfort, and he swings towards the door. 

“I’ve had enough,” he mutters, then strides forward, fully intending to hack away at the door if he has to. However, it’s unlocked, so he throws it open, happy at least he won’t have to mar the blade. 

On the threshold, is a woman. 

She steps back once at the abrupt opening of the door, eyes flickering to the sword. It takes a second, but Felix recognises her; Persephone, the youngest child. The one Sylvain is going to marry. 

“You must be Felix, I’ve heard so much about you,” she says, smiling it what appears to be genuine way, despite the weapon in his hand. 

Slowly, he lowers it, but does not sheath it, still wary despite how Persephone seems to be a more human than anyone he’s met so far. He nods once, then stands aside, assuming she’ll want to enter. However, she peers in, taking note of Ingrid and Ashe. She swallows once, then her left arm starts to shake, a strange stilted movement as if she’s attempting to move it. 

All at once, she stops, and turns back to Felix. 

“Come, you must want to see Sylvain,” she says, in that eerie balanced voice.

He hates the way she says his name, her light, lilting tone breaking carefully across the syllables. It echoes around his mind like bells so intense he can barely hear the rest of her words. 

Turning, he casts his eyes back to Ingrid and Ashe. They haven’t moved, completely frozen by what has to be magic. He can see, when he focuses, Ingrid’s fingers twitching and Ashe’s foot tapping. Abnormal movements in the stillness; part of them fighting back? And why is he the only one not affected? 

“They’ll be safe. I swear it.” 

He snaps his head back abruptly, for her tone of voice is grave and serious, entirely changed from the monotone of before. Yet when he looks she just smiles and steps away, walking into the shadow of the corridor. 

He has two choices, but really there’s only one. Because there’s a spell to break, his only lead is vanishing, and more irritatingly, he’s stupidly in love with a man who is most likely under this curse and needs to find him and destroy something with his blade before he tears his own hair out. 

So, with one last glance at his friends, he follows. 

She’s not gone far, her steps slow in the dim light, so it’s easy for him to catch up. She doesn’t try to speak to him, nor does she comment on his raised sword, the blade so dark it vanishes into the night. 

They make their way to a staircase, leading up to the second floor of the house. Light streams in from the stained glass windows, the ebbing daylight casting silver glows on the paintings which line the way. Felix eyes them as he moves, the overwhelming silence of the house setting him on edge, wrist aching as he tightly grips his sword. 

They continue upwards until they reach a landing on the fourth floor, the paintings here old in style and colouring faded from age. His eyes catch one of the last in line as he moves forward. A man in a long burgundy cape, eyes wide and green, staring out with a half-smile. But it’s the clasp on his coat which catches his eye - a silver object with a pattern of a rose surrounded by ivy, just like the crest over the fireplace.

And, he realises with a start, just like the one Persephone is wearing. Except she’s wearing only half of it. The full medallion is only in one painting, so why is it split in half? And what, if anything, does this have to do with what’s happening now? 

She pauses by the final set of windows, turning to face him so she seems almost glowing, dark hair stark, and face ever more pale. Her hands are both shaking now and Felix notices her eyes are red rimmed, dark circles pronounced and clear, a sign of so many sleepless nights.

“You know, he really hasn’t stopped talking about you,” she says, then, too fast for Felix to bridge the distance, she pulls out a pocket knife and stabs herself in the chest. 

By the time he reaches her, she’s slumped against the glass, pawing at her chest, but not, for some reason at the knife. She grabs one of his hands, grip fierce as she looks up, eyes clear and bright. 

“Help us. It’s too much, I tried to stop it but it took me, it took all of us. You’re the only one not under the influence, it’s up to you…” she groans and trails off, pulling at what he now realises is the brooch. She suddenly grips it, yanks it off with a tear of fabric and forces it in his hand. 

“Sylvain has the other half, that part is stronger...the roof...I’m sorry, I tried. Break the curse, it’s all you can do...” 

She slumps and slithers down the wall, letting go. She’s still for just a second before her body jerks violently, Felix stepping back in muted horror as her hand flies up to her chest and pulls out the knife. Blood stains the carpet and her hand drops, head lulling terrifyingly, the wound begins sealing itself. Her eyes have a glassy look, but flicker and focus wildly, as if it’s not truly her looking back at him. 

_ The roof.  _

With one last regretful glance at Persephone, he runs to the end of the corridor when he can see an open doorway, and up a spiral staircase, boots rattling the metal as he reaches for the top. He jumps over the wooden threshold and into the night, skidding to a halt when he sees a figure lounging against a turret on the other side. 

Sylvain. 

“Hey, Felix,” he says, voice carrying over the short space. He waves and stands carefully, that smile sending an ache through Felix’s chest as if he were the one to have just stabbed himself. 

It’s been too long. Too long since since he’s seen that swagger, since the cadence of his voice has been anything but an echo of memory. Since he’s seen the way his hair flows and flicks with each movement, the way his smile tips and his eyes…

His eyes are now red. Felix freezes, raising the sword. 

“Oh man, come on. I haven’t seen you in months, don’t make me train now,” he says, the same pleading tone, the same choice of words. But-

“You’re not Sylvain,” Felix says, slipping into a fighting stance with a natural grace, despite how on edge he is. 

For a moment, he thinks the thing before him may try to continue this charade. But it laughs, a hollow sound, partly in Sylvain’s voice and partly so other is does not have a name. He has no time to counter before he’s flung from his feet, spinning backwards as he hits the floor, an invisible force pushing. 

The word spins for a moment and Felix gasps, sitting up as fast as he can manage, still thankfully gripping his sword. 

Sylvain, or the thing that is Sylvain, moves forward, a strange rippling in the air around it. Felix catches a flash of silver on its lapel as it moves. The brooch, just as Persephone stated. 

He stands, wincing as he puts weight on his right foot, and resets as the thing moves forward, grinning maniacally in a way that looks nothing like the man he loves. Once again, before he even has a chance, he’s pushed, this time to the left, hitting into the manor wall. 

Felix cries out as his vision falters and a nasty crunch fills his ears. He gasps, years of soldiering meaning he calculates injuries in a flash. 

_ Blow to the head, no blood though. Ankle possibly broken, ribs aching. Hands fine.  _

Which is really what he needs as he turns to face his opponent. 

“You’re not Sylvain,” he hisses, and then before it has a chance, he attacks. 

It shakes its head, obviously relying on what must be a magical barrier, and Felix cannot help but grin as he raises his sword and swipes down at the shimmering area. It’s not the best moment to test the sword, and he hopes to himself that the promises he was given comes true. 

There’s a second, a reverberation as the blade touches the air which ripples like heat vapour. Then it slices, an audible popping sensation, and Sylvain’s crimson eyes widen as Felix pushes through. He feels the magic wither, as if something more fundamental than a barrier is broken, and the thing takes a step back. 

The sword seems fine, if anything slightly amplified, but it’s taking up energy, more so than he would have expected. 

“That weapon. You cannot be allowed; the pact was broken, you have no cause to fight,” Sylvain cries, and pushes with his right hand.

Felix plants himself on the ground but it’s no use; he still falls back, once again hitting the floor. He groans, feeling bile rise in his throat, his back now probably more bruise than skin. He opens his eyes to see that strangely, Sylvain has not moved, is frozen with his arm outstretched. Carefully, Felix rises, sword arm shaking slightly. 

“You cannot be allowed,” Sylvain says once more, voice quiet and without inflection. 

Then, he drops backwards to the floor as some sort of crimson shadow rises from him. Felix stares as it forms, a spectre with limbs and a head like an approximation of a person, eyes and a mouth jagged and red, looking straight at him. A thing of mist and magic, standing in front of Sylvain, who appears to be knocked out. 

“Felix!” 

There’s a shout, then an arrow flies across the rooftop, hitting into the barrier, but obviously damaging it somewhat. Closely followed is a bolt of lightning, and Felix manages to turn, if a little drunkenly, towards the stairway. 

Ashe is reloading, Persephone has her hands up, and Ingrid is placing her lance ready to charge. 

“The brooch!” she calls, as she launches at the barrier, Ashe’s arrow following at speed. The creature’s focus turns to them, and away from Sylvain as hoped. 

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. He runs, sword still at the ready and skids to his knees with a grunt as he reaches Sylvain. His fingers shake as he turns him, gently as he can, until he’s resting on his back. 

Felix fiddles with the clasp of the brooch, and undoes it after a few slips of his shaking and bloody fingers. There probably isn’t enough time for this, but he rests a hand against Sylvain’s cheek, feeling the warmth and life flow. There’s no visible signs of injury, but he still casts his eyes over him, keeping one hand jerkily caressing his face as he does. 

A cry from across the roof catches his attention, and he quickly grabs both pieces of the brooch. 

“How do you fit,” he mutters, thinking this must be the answer. He keeps his sword nearby as he does, a strange humming emanating, as if it’s warding off magic. But although the pattern fits perfectly, there is no chance it can be combined. It’s split neatly at the centre, no clasp or edge to slip together. 

“FELIX!” 

Ingrid’s scream is all the warning he has before he feels a shake of magic. He looks up to see the creature approaching, Ashe struggling to stand, and Ingrid seeming pinned on the floor. He immediately dives over Sylvain, holding the sword aloft as his other hand clutches the two halves of the brooch. 

But even then, he knows it’s too late. 

The air seems to fizzle, then he’s aloft, sword escaping his grip as he rises then falls, letting out a scream at the sudden flash of temperature in his veins. 

And because the world is cliche like that, he thinks of Sylvain. Pieces, glimpses. Running after him as a seven year old, never having a friend who would play before. Teaching him to use a real sword at twelve. Listening to him moan about girls at fourteen, staying up all night and drinking wine smuggled from his brother at sixteen. Watching him dance at Dimitri’s wedding, laugh and knowing, with the fullness of his soul, that he will never be loved in return.

His smile, his warmth, the longing and love he’ll never tell, for he knows this buzz and flare is not a sign of a peaceful ending. But it doesn’t matter, for there is still in his mind, a faint hope that Sylvain will carry on, even after all this. 

Then, there’s an almighty crash and he feels his head rattle, but no pain, just an instant jolt and the world fades into nothing but a haze of muted colour. His mouth fills with metal, his vision swims and he feels himself try to cough up blood. 

His eyes clear, and there, for a second he sees a woman. She wears a cloak of green, and holds a rose in her hand, a piece of ivy tucked around it. She nods once, then turns, vanishing into nothing and as she does he hears his name being called from all sides. 

He can barely see, but he’s aware of a strange ache within his hand. He slowly turns to the side, body convulsing, coughing up some of the metal and bile that clogs his throat. 

There, before his fading sight he can see nestled in his palm the brooch, now completed as if it had never been two halves. 

* * *

It’s his eyes stinging that wakes him. He’s forced to blink a few times, for the brightness is too harsh to cope with, and he groans in protest as his body starts to come round. As it does, an onslaught of unpleasant sensation envelopes; his back aches, his ankle sends a shooting blast of pain and something is beating a headache into his temples. 

He tilts his head to the side and there’s a cut off gasp. 

“Felix? Felix can you hear me?” 

He knows that voice, but why the hell is she shouting? 

“What Ingrid? Be quieter,” he manages, and there’s another choked sound as he slowly manages to pry open his eyes. 

He’s in bed, in a small nicely furnished but unfamiliar room. He’s propped up on what is probably a mountain of pillows, both his hands spread to the side, and covered in a blue duvet. As he blinks, Ingrid swings into his vision, the pressure on his right hand increasing. 

“There you are! You’ve been out for almost a day,” she says, smile clear and eyes a little watery. 

“Yeah, not like you to nap away.” 

It’s definitely a bad idea for him to turn his head so fast but he does, swallowing against the nausea which follows. 

Sylvain sits there, leaning back on his chair, jacket half shrugged off and practically glowing due to the way the sunlight hits his back and casts sparks into his hair. Felix has never, in his life, wanted the sun to die as badly as he does now. No one should be allowed to look that good. 

He also realises that is left hand is also covered, hence the position he’s in. And Sylvain is the only one in close enough proximity, which means Sylvain is holding his hand and….

He really can’t deal with that information, and also is becoming hyper aware of his own hand in a way that’s never happened before. So he swallows, a painful notion and asks. 

“What happened?” 

His voice sounds terrible, and Sylvain winces in sympathy as he speaks. From his right, a glass of water appears, and he accepts it gratefully from Ashe, although his hand shakes a little as he drinks. 

He’s also privately glad Ashe offered it on the opposite side of Sylvain, so he doesn’t have to let go of his hand. 

“Well, it turns out my book was right!” Ashe says, quickly darting forward and taking Felix’s glass, which he appreciates even if he’s loathed to admit he needs aid. 

At Felix’s look of confusion, Ashe elaborates. 

“The Illurius family made a pact with a coven centuries ago. The deal was sealed with the creation of a magical item, which was split in half to show the bargain. The coven became smaller over time, but the deal was still in place. Unfortunately last spring, the remaining members died in a flash flood. But the spell couldn’t know that, so it interpreted their sudden deaths as a break in the bargain,” Ashe says, Felix’s mind just about keeping up with the explanation. 

A throat clearing captures his attention, and Persephone walks forward from near the door, offering a hesitant smile. 

“My family was cursed to fall under the control of the spell, and as no one was managing it, it began to spread to the entire area, us all in a kind of stasis. I tried to reverse it, but I couldn’t locate the other half of the brooch. I called for aid before the spell completely took over, and Sylvain arrived.”

Felix turns to the man on his left slowly, who nods. “I managed to find the other half of the brooch. But as soon as I touched it, the spell infected me,” he admits, lifting the hand not holding Felix’s to scratch at the back of his head abashedly. 

Ingrid snorts from next to him. “And just so happened to make you plan a wedding?” she says, with a grin. 

“That is probably due to his flirting when he first arrived,” Persephone replies with a roll of her eyes. 

Felix immediately stiffens a little, for although that’s classically Sylvain, right here in this moment it seems too deep and too brutal. However, just as he’s thinking he should pull his hand away, Sylvain’s grip tightens on his, twisting their hands slowly so somehow, they are intertwined. Felix swallows once more, feeling his fingers flex as Sylvain guides their hands to the side, curling their digits together. He can feel his face flaming, and hopes no one else has noticed. 

He zones back into the room when he hears a call of his name. 

“-lix managed to break through the curse?” Ingrid asks, and it’s then he recalls. 

“The sword. It can break through any barrier. Apparently that includes magic too. But-” he trails off as he pieces together the fragments of his last memories, all stilted with pain and confusion. 

The others peer closely, a little on edge, but say nothing, leaving him to collect himself. 

“The brooch...was fixed? How could that happen if it was magic? I didn’t do it,” he questions. 

There seems to be an exchange of looks, and Sylvain in particular shuffles next to him. 

“Well...there is one fail safe that always breaks curses,” Ashe begins and there’s muffled laughter from Ingrid which she tries to hide in her hand. Felix glares at her, yet when she lifts her hand, it’s too late. Her grin is the dangerous type, the one saved for when she has some particular plan of action. 

“True love,” she says. 

Felix immediately begins choking. On what he’s not too sure, probably his own heart and the urge to turn back time and do his entire life differently, but he’s coughing up a lung all the same. Ashe looks startled, and Ingrid slaps him on the back painfully, while Syvain leaps forward as if to steady him, letting go of his hand for the first time. 

Felix, despite the coughs, misses the touch immediately. Love is awful. 

“Well, I have many things to do now the curse is broken. I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Felix. I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done,” Persephone states, standing and bowing to him, which he attempts to nod back to while he passes through the last of the fit. 

“We should go help,” Ingrid says immediately and to Felix’s absolute horror, her and Ashe stand and move towards the door. 

He has the insane notion of calling out to them for a second, anything to not have to deal with what’s inevitably coming, but they make sure to exit as abruptly as possible, pulling the door shut with a snap as they do. 

Silence is all that remains. That and the thudding of his heart, the sweat collecting in his palms and ticking wave of fear which is specially reserved for emotions soaring within. Sylvain clears his throat, then stands, moving to perch on the side of the bed, right in Felix’s eyeline. There is absolutely no escape. 

“So. You love me,” he says, tipping back a little and grinning from ear to ear. 

“Curses can’t be broken like that, it makes no sense,” he says, feeling his ears heat up of all things. 

Sylvain quirks and eyebrow. “That’s an entirely different conversation, and I didn’t hear a denial,” he says. 

This is one of the most awkward moments of Felix’s life, as he’s about to rupture everything; his plans, his current status quo, his own heart apparently. So he closes his eyes against the tidal wave of things he mostly tries to ignore, almost as if by doing so he can prevent it from descending. 

He’s caught though, when he feels fingers trace lightly across his jaw. It’s electricity on impact but he doesn’t jerk away as he’d expect himself too; for he knows this touch, this person, as Sylvain slides forward closer into his space. 

“You can keep your eyes closed if you like. You look cute with your eyes closed. I mean, you look even cuter with them open but this is pretty adorable,” he says, laughing a little, now so close Felix can feel the end of the gust of laughter. 

“I think a part of me has always cared for you. It’s taken me awhile to realise how. I’ve missed you so much lately, and even before that I was trying to reach you but...I guess I was trying to in the wrong ways.” 

His other hand comes to rest against Felix’s jaw, so his face is effectively cupped in Sylvain’s hands. He feels a restless exhilaration to do something; move, chase, hide,  _ anything _ . But he’s also frozen, only letting out a shocked breath of air as Sylvain’s forehead comes to rest against his own. 

“I love you too, Felix,” he says. 

And it takes no effort at all for Felix to tilt his head up and kiss him. 

He has his eyes closed but they are so close it’s hard to miss, even if it’s not dead centre. But it takes a microsecond for Sylvain to adjust, and then it's pure sensation. A small press of lips but it’s anything but; an exchange of breath as they part, and Sylvain angles his head so that when they next meet, Felix’s mouth parts on instinct. This is not his forte, never has been but now it all takes on a different air. A desperation, a homecoming, a finality in all this as their movements become more frantic, Sylvain’s hands a brand on his skin as his thumbs move in circles across his cheeks. 

Felix gasps and launches forward, Sylvain letting out a deep sound as for a moment their mouths open together and the kiss begins to deepen. Except as he moves, a spike of agony tears up Felix’s side and he has to pull back, Sylvain immediately backing off as Felix cries out and grabs at his ribs. 

“Okay, no more of that, you really need to rest,” he says, leaning forward and resting a hand on Felix’s shoulder as the flash dies down a base line of thrumming pain that feels more manageable. 

He looks up, taking in Sylvain’s expression. Lips shining, hair a little ruffled, a flush on his cheeks and eyes, brown and warm, joy in his whole posture. He winks as Felix surveys him. 

“Yep, cuter with your eyes open,” he says, and Felix groans, falling back against the pillows. 

“Why do I love you again,” he mutters, and Sylvain leans forward, surprising him with a sweet unexpected kiss. 

“Well, it’s good to hear it back, even if it’s reluctant,” he says, and Felix feels his face flame, even as Sylvain laughs at the reaction. 

“Oh hey, this must not be comfortable, let me,” he says, then reaches up to carefully untie Felix’s hair. The band comes off with a small snap and that is instantly better, the small ache of the weight of his hair abiding as it falls down in long strands. It’s a little matted and certainly needs a wash, but Sylvain watches it fall as if he’s enraptured anyway. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you with your hair down. It suits you,” he says, quietly, and then slowly runs a hand through Felix’s scalp, mindful of the snags and tangles. 

To his mortification, Felix feels himself sigh, leaning into the touch slightly, and Sylvain blinks, before returning, carding his hands through Felix’s hair, a touch lighter than a massage, which makes his eyes flutter and the fuzziness of sleep roll in. 

“You should rest,” he hears, after an unnumbered amount of time has passed, his eyes having shut at some point. He opens them quickly, seeing Sylvain give him a smile as he moves to stand. 

“Did I say you should go?” he mutters, and Sylvain stops, before turning back and laughing, almost doubling over. Felix closes his eyes and smiles, for that’s a good sound, one he’d be perfectly happy to accompany him into slumber. 

And if he wakes up cuddled up against Sylvain’s chest then well, that’s not something anyone has to know. Or it would be if Sylvain didn’t announce it to Ingrid and Ashe as soon as they arrived, both looking at Felix with new eyes, as if finding out he cuddles is like finding a harrowing secret. 

Loving Sylvain, after all, has sometimes felt like a curse. But curses are meant to be broken, and with his love returned, it feels as if he’s cutting down the parts which have been caging in his feelings for years. 

It’s awful, exhilarating, messy, fantastic - and it’s sort of frightening. But that’s love. Unfortunately. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> Feel free come yell at me about the Blue Lions and Sylvix. Find me on on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/) and [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com)


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